The Dragonborn Comes
by Debb
Summary: She comes and goes as she pleases, he understands that. But there are nights when he wishes his wife would come home. FDragonborn/Benor


She comes and goes as she pleases, barely there till she's gone again. A free spirit was how she warned him when they were married. He knows she's important, found that out in the oddest of ways when a dragon landed outside the city. His instinct kicked in, the need to protect his city, if he wished to be a guard in these turbulent times, this would be a normal occurance.  
Broadsword drawn and raised, he ran to meet it head on, until he heard the scream and was thrown out of the way. He watched in amazement, terror as she fought this dragon, defeated it then a bright light blinded him. She walked towards him, stood above him, hand outstretched. He heard the word 'Dragonborn' uttered and she nodded once.

There were other revelations that she presented him with, that she was married more than two centuries ago, that there was a son wandering around left to wonder just what ever became of his mother. She has her reasons, he doesn't push her, yet it makes him realise how...old she is, experienced is perhaps a better word, though he would not say either to her. Her past is unpleasant, she swears up and down she's not a good person, that she's done questionable things, worked as a hired killer and let revenge consume her for far too long. Her actions say otherwise however. He hears the stories, of all she's helped, of those she's saved from the dragons roaming the skies. He doesn't believe her, thinks she's being too hard on herself, and yet other stories circulate that make him wonder if there is a grain of truth in her words.

He's asked before to accompany her, to protect her even though he knows she doesn't need it, it's simply to set his own mind at rest. She's refused him every time. She claims it's to protect him, what she does is too dangerous, that she works alone and is better off that way. She glances away when she says that, doesn't meet his eye, a sure sign she's lying. He asks her: "Look me in the eye when you say that."  
She shakes her head.  
He says: "Why won't you let me come with you then?"  
She says: "I'm afraid."  
He frowns at her. "Of what?"  
She tells him: "That you'll see me for what I am. I'm not the hero they sing of, I'm not the one they should adore."  
He says: "I'd love you anyway."  
She turns away from him and walks to the door. "No," she tells him, "You wouldn't. You're a good man Benor, and good men don't tolerate the deeds of evil."  
She leaves that night and sends him a letter from Rorikstead a fortnight later.

Her words echo in his head. She claims she's evil, but how can she be? The stories he hears, the ones that make him wonder about her past, they can't all be true surely. All the stories he hears, the stories that tell of her running to meet dragons, saving citizens of the cities they attack, all of them can't be lies. How can she be evil if the bards sing songs of her deeds? Or is he too blinded? Too close to her that he won't believe it, even if it turns out to be truth. He feels like he should confront her, ask her of these deeds she claims to have committed that he, her good man, won't tolerate. He can't, he won't, he loves her and since coming into his life, he does not want to lose her. Oh he knows she'll outlive him, that it will be she who buries him, she'll bury her good man, perhaps go on to marry again though he doubts that. Perhaps she'll finally find her son, or perhaps they'll have children of their own. A pleasant thought, that would be something to boast of, child of the Dragonborn.

He sits in the tavern, after a long day at the shop. The bard strums her lute quietly in the corner, briefly thanking the woman who has approached and requested a song. He can take a guess at what it's going to be.  
"Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart," the bard began and he's almost tempted to go home. He misses her far too much this night.  
"I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes."  
That she does, he wants to say.

He leaves the tavern after all, expecting to return to Lydia the housecarl and no wife. Instead what he finds is a letter on the table, from the city guard. He calls for Lydia, she tells him that it was simply dropped off. He shrugs and opens it. It's an invitation to join them and a time to arrive at the barracks, to allow them to judge his skill. He wonders if his wife had anything to do with this and wanders upstairs, a faint bloom of hope in his heart that he'll find her there. The bed is empty, sheets made, sweetroll untouched.  
The Dragonborn comes to set the world to rights, but she never comes home. 


End file.
